


Snuggy Wolf

by NBWerewolfLover



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cursed Peter Hale, Curses, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 09:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NBWerewolfLover/pseuds/NBWerewolfLover
Summary: Beacon Hills has a witch problem, Peter's missing and the Stilinski's have a visitor





	Snuggy Wolf

Stiles grabs a few snacks from the kitchen cupboard and a cold Pepsi from the refrigerator, not in the mood to make something to eat, and tiredly trudges up the stairs.  He dumps his backpack just inside his bedroom door, kicks it shut and staggers to his bed on which he faceplants, snacks still in his hands. Maybe he can just stay like this for the rest of the day.

 

After a few minutes laying there in his own drool and almost suffocating in his duvet, a disconcerting feeling tikkles the back of his neck, shivering down his spine.  The distinctive feeling of being watched. Stiles didn’t hear his bedroom door open, and now that he thinks about it, there is a genltle breeze wafting through the room.  He can feel it cooling the sheen of sweat on the back off his neck. That can mean only one thing in the supernatural circus that has now become Stlies’ life. A creature of the night has decided to grace him with their presence.

 

Stiles’s mind immediately jumps to the usual suspects.  One is currently running after the newest love of his life like a lost puppy.  The other has a love of making his presence known as dramatically as possible, and staring at Stiles in silence doesn't qualify as dramatic enough.  That only leaves the dark, silently brooding in the corner candidate.

 

‘Derek.  Dude, can’t you use the front door like a normal person, just once,’  he mumbles, his face still squeeshed into the bed. ‘I mean, it’s like you were raised by wolves,’ he chuckles, raising his head.  Expecting murderous eyebrows scowling back at him.

 

His laugh and next comment gets abruptly cut of by him almost choking on his own spit.  If he wasn’t already lying down, he would have fallen on his ass. Arms and legs flailing, he looks like a fish out of water trying to make a snow angel. A bag of chips flies through the air, destination unknown.  Because what he sees isn’t a leather jacket and scrunched up eyebrows belonging to Derek Sourwolf Hale… it’s…

 

A pale pink nose and long whiskers attached to a orange face.  Big golden eyes look down at him...  _ judging him… _

 

Stiles suddenly has the irrational urge to apologise for not being more hospitable and offer him or her refreshments.

 

‘Heeeeeyyy, kitty.’ All that he gets is a blank stare.  ‘Who do you belong to?’ he asks sheepishly and a little dumbfounded.  

 

Stiles litteraly knows every pet in his neighborhood.  Every dog, cat, ferret, tortoise and snake. Yes, snake.  A yellow and cream Boa by the name of Wigglesworth. A renowned escape artist, taken in three times by his dad’s deputies in the last six months for jaywalking.   _ Jayslithering?   _ Causing mass histeria each and very time, Mrs. Larson being the main instigator, convinced that Wigglesworth only motivation for his delinquency is to hunt down and eat her Yorkie, Peanut.

 

‘Wow!  You're a big boy, aren't you?  Or are you a girl?’

 

Mr. or miss Fluffy-and-Judgemental is really big.  Overtly large for a domestic cat, in Stiles’ opinion, thirty pounds at least, but clearly still a domestic cat.   _ Maybe.  Hopefully. _  He is definitely doing some research later.

 

‘Are you hungry?  We don't have any cat food, but I can make you something.’

 

The condescending expression in the golden eyes turn to interest.  After a quick paw bathing and a full body stretch, front paws extended and giant feather duster tail almost touching its head,  he jumps of the bed and makes his way to the door at a leisurely pace.

 

Stiles takes that as a confirmation.

 

One look at he fluffy bottom descending the stairs ahead of him, confirms that its DEFINITELY a male.

 

Stiles ends up making some chicken strips, cajun spice crusted with a salad for him and without spices or salt for his feline guest.  Said guest doesn't look happy, he looks quite offended actually. Stiles catches him starring at his own colorless chicken and then sniffing in the direction of Stiles’ plate of food.   _ Did…did he just raise an eyebrow at him?  Cats can't do that, right? Maybe he is just a very expressive cat?  Well, Whatever. _

 

‘Dude, stop looking at me like that!  And stop eyeballing my food. Salt is bad for you.’

 

After a few minutes, realising he isn't getting anything more appetising, he reluctantly start to nibble on his food, tail flicking back and forth in agitation.

 

‘Look buddy, I have a pack meeting to get to.  I'll go to the store afterwards and stock up on some things, okay?’  A blank stare is all he gets in return. ‘Wow. Your enthusiasm overwhelms me,’ he states dryly.  

 

Golden eyes narrow to slits.

 

*******

The meeting is brief, as per Derek's usual leadership style.  Informing them in short grunts that they may or may not have a witch problem.  He, Derek, found animal carcasses while doing patrol the last few night and the way they were found suggest some sort of ritual.  

 

Scott warns them to be careful and not to go into the preserve alone, and if any of them do find something not to do anything rash.  The last part's directed at Stiles, who feigns indignation.

 

Stiles doesn’t really listen though, his thoughts too troubled, all over the place.  Peter isn't at the meeting, his place on the stairs empty. Peter always, always attend pack meetings, if only to irritate Derek, hackle Scott and freak Isaac out.  And maybe, just maybe because Peter enjoys bantering and trading snarky comments with him.  _ Yea, he can dream, right? _

 

When he asks Derek after the meeting where Peter is, he practically spits at him that he doesn't know and doesn't care.

 

Stiles...Stiles feels a seed of worry germinating in his gut.  His instincts are screaming at him that something is very wrong, and they have never let him down.

 

*******

 

As promised Stiles stops at the store on his way home.  He buys some groceries for him and his dad, but mostly concentrates on getting some essentials for the fluff ball.  Okay maybe more than just the essentials.

 

Stiles gets dry cat food, some fancy tinned wet food, the biggest litter tray they have, a bag of kitty litter ( _ Gentle on paws _ ), a bowl that has  _ You Had Me At Meow  _ printed on it and a pink cat toy consisting of lots of bells, ribbons and feathers dangling on a stick.

 

*******

Later that evening, after extensive research about domestic cat breeds, taking a brief detour through cat genetics and kitten photos on Facebook, blame his ADHD, he proudly declares ‘You, buddy, are in fact a red Maine Coon!’ 

 

Red doesn't bother to acknowledged the newly imparted knowledge, too busy lounging in the middle of Stiles bed, washing his muzzle and tufted ears.

 

It’s only later that night, when he hears his father bellow his name, that it occurs to him that maybe he should have told his dad about their guest.

 

‘Stiles!  Why is there a litter tray in the bathroom?’ Before he can answer, ‘Stiles!  Why is there a giant cat using our toilet?!’ 

 

‘Uhm!’

 

*******

 

It's been a week since the kitty's arrival, a week in which the pack spent all their free time looking for the witch, because it turns out there is indeed a witch.  Stiles spends his time looking for Peter and cuddling with said kitty. 

 

Nobody has heard anything from the blue eye wolf in over a week.  Stiles even went to his apartment down town, the one he isn't supposed to know the whereabouts of.  He picked the lock, and prayed that Peter won't kill him for invading his den. It becomes immediately clear that Peter wasn't planning on taking a trip and expected to be home for dinner.  A dirty tea cup is still on the coffee table with a book open next to it. In the kitchen steaks, that have now gone off, are laid out on the kitchen counter to defrost. He throws them out, heart clenching in trepidation. 

 

Stiles’ nerves are wrecked and the rest of the pack doesn't give a damn!  In fact when he told them of his suspicions, that something terrible has happened to Peter, they looked ready to celebrate.

 

‘Snuggy, I'm so worried about him,’ Stiles tells the red ball of fluff draped over his lap.

 

They, he and the fluff, decided on a name.  Okay, he decided on a name while last mentioned just huffed and rolled his eyes.   _ Seriously, cats aren't supposed to do that, right?  _

 

His Royal Highness Thor von Snuggle Muffin.  A nice regal name befitting a pompous feline.  

 

But Stiles just calls him Snuggy.

 

Stiles wakes up evey morning with fluff in his mouth and up his nose, his arms wrapped around Snuggy.  Snuggy, who sleeps in his bed every night even though he, Stiles, spent a ridiculous amount of money on a dog bed, because a cat bed is too small, with plush faux tiger print fur. 

 

Snuggy also loves to sit, recline,  _ lounge  _ on his lap whenever Stiles is reading something or doing his homework, giving a slightly disturbing impression that he is if fact reading right along with him.  Swatting at the book if Stiles lingers to long on a page. _  Totally normal for a cat, right? _

 

‘I don't know what to do,’ Stiles says wiping a tear away.  ‘Nobody wants to help me, and I have looked everywhere for him.’ Snuggy head bobs him in sympathy.  ‘The others hate Peter, I know that, but he has been nothing but loyal since he came back, trying help, to protect his pack.  And I...I really like him,’ he chokes out. ‘I really, really like him, Snuggy.’ Snuggy begins to purr up a storm. Stiles gently strokes the long furred back.  ‘I mean, he’s hot. Obviously,’ Stiles confesses with a small embarrassed laugh, tinged with sadness. Snuggy starts to kneed his thigh. ‘But, I also like that he is super intelligent and snarky and sarcastic, you know?  And he actually takes me seriously, he  _ listens _ to me,  _ sees  _ me.’

 

Stiles’ phone pings with a group message.

 

‘Sorry, Snuggy, I got to go.  They found the witch.’ Snuggy growls and swats at his phone.  ‘I have to go, those idiots need me.’

 

*******

 

Stiles is a sobbing bluddering mess, face covered in tears and snot.  His eyes are red and almost swollen shut from crying. 

 

Stiles is laying on his bed, Snuggy lying on top of him, face pressed against Stiles’ neck in comfort.  Stiles holding onto, clutching his furr in desperation, trying desperately to anchor himself.

 

They found the witch and Derek killed her, but not before she gleefully and in great detail bragged about painfully killing the Hale-McCall lefthand.  Killing Peter. Apparently he found her more than a week ago, cornered her in the preserve. And she killed him. She killed his wolf.

 

‘I love him Snuggy, and now I will never see him again, hear his voice or look into his blue eyes.’

 

Hours later Stiles eventually passes out from pure exhaustion, arms still tightly wrapped around a fur covered body.

 

*******

 

Stiles wakes up to the bright midday sunlight painting patterns on his bedroom wall in front of his face.  For a few blissful moments his mind is blank and then he remembers…his wolf is dead.

 

Tears well up in his eyes.   _ His wolf.   _ Before he can start sobbing again however he feels something…  _ an arm?...  _ tightening around his middle.  A tanned, muscled arm, a very familiar arm.   _ It can't be! _

 

Stiles turns around slowly, hope blooming in his chest, terrified that he is wrong, that he's dreaming.  But he's not. There he is… Peter. 

 

A very naked Peter.

 

_ He's beautiful.   _

 

Stiles gently cups Peter's stubbled jaw, not wanting to wake him, he just wants to look at him for a while.  His dark, usually expertly styled, hair is sleep mushed. Long eyelashes cast shadows on his cheekbones. Stiles softy runs his thumb across his plump bottom lip.  He starts when those lips nip at his finger.

 

Peter is staring at him with soft, sleepy bluer than blue eyes.

 

‘You love me, hu?’ Peter purrs.   _ Ha!  Purrs!   _ Voice smug, smile mocking, but the hopeful, wonder filled gleam in his cerulean eye, tells Stiles all he needs to know. 

 

‘Oh!  Shut up,  _ Snuggy!’  _ Stiles shoots back and kisses that smile off of his gorgeous face.

 

*******

 

Stiles doesn't tell the pack about the curse or that Peter is still alive.  They wait till the next evening's pack meeting.

 

Stiles is a vindictive little shit, okay.  He can't wait to see their faces! 

 

So Stiles makes sure that he has a front row seat, figiting in anticipation, biting his thumb nail.  Just as Derek clears his throat to start the meeting, the door is thrown open and in struts Peter, predatory smirk on his face. 

 

Eyes flash in hues of red, gold and blue. Chairs scrape across the floor.  A few growls (Derek and Scott) and a squeeck (Isaac) rings through the loft but Stiles hardly notices, his eyes glued to his wolf, looking sexy a blue v-neck and tight black jeans.

 

Unable to contain himself any longer, Stiles gets up and runs full speed at Peter, knowing his wolf will catch him. And he does.  Stiles wrappes his legs around him.

 

‘My Snuggy!’ He giggles and kisses Peter deeply.

 

A chorus of ‘What the hell?!’ plays behind them but they don't notice, for them there is only each other.

 

Stiles humms into Peters mouth in contentment.

 

And Peter, his Snuggy?  

 

He purrs of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
